


be companioned still

by brittaunfiltrd



Series: Up the Hill [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Background Relationships, Content Warning: season 4 episode 13 of The Magicians, Dogs, Fix-It, Friendship, Fruit & fruit metaphors, Gen, Holding Hands, Multi, Stubbornness, Uncharitable perspectives as a result of grief & self-loathing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:21:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21569644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittaunfiltrd/pseuds/brittaunfiltrd
Summary: Four conversations and some paperwork.
Relationships: Alice Quinn & Eliot Waugh, Alice Quinn & Julia Wicker, Alice Quinn & Kady Orloff-Diaz, Kady Orloff-Diaz & Julia Wicker, Margo Hanson & Alice Quinn, Quentin Coldwater/Alice Quinn, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: Up the Hill [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1346323
Kudos: 4





	be companioned still

She could kick herself.

“What could possibly go wrong?”

Oh, just the small matter of Quentin destabilizing their well-trodden, well-mapped routes to the underworld; just the small matter of Alice torpedoing any chance of working her way back into the library with Zelda, whether she had Kady and Harriet on side or not. Sheila had been sympathetic, to a point; she hadn’t at all tolerated Alice flinging the thick sheaf of the contract across the room. Her eyes had gone flat and unimpressed, and she’d left, immediately, and hadn’t come back.

What was she even expecting? Alice's educational foci were physics and philosophy, not, not, _HR. _Nothing that would have prepared her to manage some sort of neo-fascist library_._

“Also, given Dewey, I wouldn't even know where to start to get the right people on board to fix all the baked-in issues, let alone figuring out the ethics around bringing _on _new staff – and honestly, Sheila, what kind of short-sight – stop, stop. Stop thinking about it.”

Zelda hadn’t been thinking clearly, apparently. And Alice, instead of taking advantage of that, had been arrogant again, and childish, stupid, and made things that much harder for herself. All of them.

“Shut up and _focus_, for fuck’s sake,” Alice says, and pushes downward on the knife, which slips, catches on her nail, skids, and nearly cuts off the tip of her thumb.

She can’t even chop an onion.

‘You mean, a _shallot_?’ Eliot had asked. He’d collapsed elegantly to the Cottage sofa and handed Margo a glass of something pink and sparking. He’d smirked at Alice, and smiled a little more genuinely at Quentin, who’d fairly glowed in response.

“An allium. Stop.”

She sets the knife down gently and takes a couple laps around the loft. She's sweaty and she just wants to open a window and put her face out into cold, wet air. She taps her forehead and fingertips against the warm glass and turns to the puppy. He's curled up in Eliot's dark blue chair, chin tucked up onto his haunch, sleepy. When she snaps her fingers, his ears perk; when she pitches her voice up, puts her hand out, and says “touch,” he bounds to her side.

He shoves his face into her palm, and she praises his wit and beauty.

Her face cools, her heart rate slows. They run through a few exercises, until Alice feels calmer, and the puppy accompanies her back to the kitchen, his face turned eagerly up to hers. Alice washes and dries her hands, picks up the knife and the cutting board, and stops mid-motion. Aloud, she says, “proto. Proto-fascist, really, even if we’re considering Peterson's work valid,”

The puppy collapses onto his side in front of the fridge and sighs. Alice says, “which we aren't, obviously,” scrapes the shallot into Kady’s food processor, and keeps going.


End file.
